


Taking The Plunge

by Writcraft



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boys In Love, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Nervousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 04:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20269915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: The one with lots of diving metaphors.Or: Nick and Louis agree to be boyfriends. Eventually.





	Taking The Plunge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Grimmy's Birthday Bash 2019 and posted slightly late! All errors my own.

Louis blames the booze. It’s easier to put things in the _didn’t mean to do it_ box when booze is involved. Without booze Louis would have to admit that he’s hard and desperate for Nick to kiss him again, just because. The acknowledgment is too big, too heavy a weight on his shoulders. Nick’s just after a bit of fun, he tells himself. It’s just another stupid, pissed up mistake like the time before, and the time before that. Apart from this time it’s Nick’s event. Nick’s event for some posh fashion brand that Louis wasn’t even invited to, until he received a text from Nick needling him about being a hermit. He's still not sure if it was an invitation to come along, or a dig at Louis for not being seen in public for a month or two—_probably scared of the sunlight like one of them vampires_. 

Louis couldn't let being compared to that knob from _Twilight_ slide. He put on his best hoodie and some nice new trainers Adidas sent him last week. One long, sobering taxi ride through London, several Stellas and two painful hours watching Nick’s long fingers dancing over the decks later, and here Louis is. Tipsy, restless and on-edge, with his back against the wall. Ready to go back to Nick’s place to say hello to his brilliant dogs and get fucked into the mattress.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Louis points out. He wants to be absolutely clear about that. Very _for the avoidance of doubt_. He’s just drunk, horny and Nick’s good at getting him off. 

Tomorrow Louis will go back to pretending Nick doesn’t exist and he won’t do this again. Probably. It’s not the _liking cock_ thing, not anymore. It was, for a very long time. But he’s older now. Bullish, reckless and very determined not to give a fuck about the whispers anymore. Let them talk. It’s more the _Nick_ thing that's bothering him. Because Nick knows what he’s doing, Louis doesn’t, and Louis hates not having the upper hand.

He wants to trust Nick, but there's a part of him that's still unsure. He doesn’t like the not knowing, the wondering if Nick’s just in this for a laugh, if one day Louis Tomlinson’s kissing techniques—_tastes like lager and cigarettes_—are going to be sport for Nick’s radio crew. He knows in his heart that Nick isn't that much of a dick, but taking the risk on anyone new is something Louis hasn't done for a long time. It's why he surrounds himself with family and friends from home. The ones from before. _Look out for yourself, lad_. He doesn't want his bruised and battered heart kicked around like a football. Most of all, he doesn't want to end up looking like a stupid twat. Louis has his pride to think about, after all.

“This doesn't mean anything,” Louis repeats. He's not sure Nick heard him the first time, distracted as he seems to be by his quest to leave Louis thoroughly kissed.

Nick’s hands are everywhere. He pulls back from biting a bruise onto Louis’ neck, his lips pink and his cheeks flushed. “Of course not, darling.” Nick pushes Louis against the wall, kissing away the chill of the night and the gnawing voice that wonders _what if you just told him the truth?_ “It doesn't mean anything at all. We’re just two lads hanging out.”

That sends a wave of anger rolling through Louis. It reminds him of Harry, and the hours, days and weeks he spent holed up with Nick doing fuck knows what. He wonders if Nick knows that Louis let Harry blow him, once. He blamed that on the booze, too. Those were different times, different days. It could all be brushed under the _living the life of a pop star_ carpet, the heady, dizzying adrenaline of trying anything once. Louis passed it off as nothing, not ready to accept certain things about himself. Thinking about it now reminds him of staring at a swimming pool and refusing to properly jump in. Now he’s ready. Toes curled over the edge of the diving board, hands stretched up to the sky kind of ready. _Ten points to Tommo._

Something furious, futile and desperate crashes over Louis as he fists his hands in Nick’s shirt. It’s silk, slick beneath his fingers and he has to hold on tightly so he can haul Nick closer. Even Nick’s shirt feels like it’s going to slip away from him, together with the single, dizzying, moment of boldness that always disappears as the sun rises and Louis is still standing there, shivering in the cold and teetering on the edge, too scared to jump in.

“I’m not looking for a _boyfriend_,” Louis tells Nick. The lie tastes bitter on his tongue and he kisses Nick breathless again. He’s sweet, like Coca-Cola. 

Nick slides his fingers over Louis’ wrist, thumbs at his pulse. He looks at Louis with dark eyes and tightens his grip on Louis’ wrist. “Doesn’t matter.” 

It sounds like it might matter more than Nick's letting on, but he shuts Louis up with another heart-stopping kiss before either of them can say anything else. Nick's hand on Louis’ wrist makes him shiver with pleasure. Nick’s better at getting him off than anyone he’s ever met. It doesn’t take much. Louis was already half-hard just watching Nick DJ. He likes being up in Nick’s space far too much, making a nuisance of himself and telling Nick his music's shit. He stands jealously close, being just bratty enough to keep Nick snarking at him as he changes the tracks. He doesn't want to leave room for anyone else. 

Louis turns them around, so Nick is the one pinned against the wall. Nick goes easily, his eyes warm as he watches Louis. He looks amused, his hair askew and his cheeks and neck pink. Louis slides his fingers over the skin where Nick's shirt parts, the wiry chest hair making him think of Nick naked, Nick taking Louis apart with his fingers, his mouth, his cock.

“Stop bloody smiling,” Louis says, gruffly. 

Nick rolls his eyes, leaning back against the wall. “Am I supposed to be enjoying this or not?”

“Not,” Louis decides. He wraps his arms around Nick but taking control doesn’t feel right. He wants Nick over him, pressing into him, holding him down. “It’s not funny.”

“Not in the slightest,” Nick agrees. His voice is rough and low. He turns them again, his hand slipping back over Louis’ wrist. He takes Louis’ other hand and puts them both above his head, bringing them together and pressing them against the wall with his palm. Even just that simple movement makes Louis’ cock ache and he swallows back a groan. Nick pins Louis in place, biting down on the bit of Louis’ neck he seems to particularly like. He breathes in, then pulls back to look at Louis. “You keep telling me this doesn't mean anything, but actions speak louder than words, pet.”

“Oh fuck off.” Louis glares at Nick. Nick steps back from Louis, releasing him and rubbing his jawline as he stares. He looks well-kissed, the flush running from his neck to his cheeks deepening. He’s so stupidly handsome, Louis wants to hate him, but he really, really can’t. _Dive in, Tommo._ Crowds cheer, hands clap. Louis blinks in the sun, the glare on the water is just too strong. _Lights are blinding my eyes._

The Streets. Louis loves them. Rediscovered them on a night when sleep wouldn't come and it was just Louis, _Original Pirate Material_ and a spliff. He draws a breath, blinks at Nick. Cocky and confident, all hands and breathless _come on, come on_ in the moment. Not that there have been many moments. Not as many as Louis would like, not yet. He’s still trying to forget about three years ago when Louis shoved his tongue down Nick’s throat when they were both far too drunk for anything else. He’s not even sure Nick remembers, because they were both smashed and neither one of them has mentioned it since. Two years after that they ended up in toilets that stink of piss and one rough moment of pleasure against a brick wall after a smoke, their mouths tasting like cigarettes and the cold night air. Afterwards, Nick always seemed flat and resigned, buttoning up his shirt or doing up his trousers and flashing Louis a sharp smile that never quite seems to sit right. _See you around, Louis_.

“Where are you?” Nick’s voice softens, his fingers tracing the curve of Louis’ chin. Louis shaved before coming out and his skin is tender and raw. He even whacked a bit of Nivea on, just because he likes the smell of it. Nick told him once the scruff on Louis’ face was playing havoc with his skincare routine. _Like sandpaper on my face. I'm trying to look after it, you know. We’re not all vertically challenged twenty-somethings, darling_. “Where do you go to?”

“Nowhere.” Louis flashes Nick a sharp smile. “Thinking about the footie, mate.”

Nick snorts a laugh. “Thanks, love. I’m flattered.” 

Nick licks his lips, as if he’s about to say something else. In the end, he doesn’t say a word, just turns and makes his way back inside. 

Louis follows.

*

“Since when do you wear glasses to DJ?” Louis gets up in Nick’s space, the kisses from earlier still burning against his lips. He wonders if everyone can see it, if they know. Part of him cares, part of him doesn’t. Life’s too short to give a fuck. _Be happy. Take the plunge._

Nick changes the record, the songs blending seamlessly together. He makes it look effortless. He’s usually warmer than this. Louis is used to Nick talking too fast, around wide smiles and jokes about the Kardashians. Louis must have really fucked him off somehow to get this suddenly frosty reception. 

“Since when do you care what I wear?” Nick’s voice is tight. Definitely pissed off, then. 

“I don’t care. Just making small talk.” Louis frowns at Nick, trying to read his expression. His smile’s just the wrong slant, his eyes not as warm as usual. He chucks on some Kanye and sighs, lost in thought.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Nick says at last. “Not really.”

_I know what your cock feels like in my hand,_ Louis thinks. _I know what you look like when you come_.

People are probably wondering why Louis Tomlinson is standing next to Nick Grimshaw instead of minding his own business somewhere Nick isn’t. He has visions of _The Mirror_ and _The Sun_ splashed with pictures of an unshaven, tired looking Louis and a gorgeously dressed Nick meshed side-by-side. _Louis Tomlinson’s Gay Heartbreak!_ He shivers. Yeah, no thanks. 

“I know some stuff,” Louis insists. _I know the way you kiss, the way you care. I know the things you value are the things I value too. Your mum is nice. You’re good to her. I like that. I like you_.

“None of the bits that matter.” Nick’s lips tighten. 

“They all matter. I like your bits.” Louis is aiming for funny, but it just ends up sounding flat. Louis isn’t very good at light-hearted banter when he’s scared shitless. It’s partly fear, partly the not knowing how to deal with the fact dicking around with Nick has started to worm a pesky hole in his heart and he's not sure it's ever going to feel right again, if he doesn't at least _try_. The louder the niggling voice gets, the more it makes Louis go into self-destruct mode. 

“Cheeky little shit.” Nick’s smile doesn’t look quite so frosty anymore. He gestures for another drink and glances at a couple of people with their phones out, dancing to Nick’s music. “Better watch it. Someone’s taking photos.”

“So?” Louis frowns at Nick. “I don’t care.”

“You should.” Nick brushes past Louis, reaching for something close to him. His breath is hot on Louis’ skin. “They might think we’re together. Wouldn’t want you to get shit on Twitter for being with me.” 

“Do you think that’s what I’m bothered about?” Louis stares at Nick, whose jaw works. 

“I don’t have a clue.” Nick’s neck flushes. “There's some don't like me much on social media. Doesn’t matter. Fuck 'em.”

“It does matter, you twat.” Louis rolls his eyes and nudges Nick with his shoulder. “It’s just—” 

He stops. It’s just _people leave_. It’s just hard, opening yourself up to things. Hard when your heart’s been broken, when you’ve lost things, when the balance between you both feels all skewed and strange. Hard not being in control. It's like swimming towards the shore. You can see it, you know where you want to get to, but you don't know what's underneath you and the current keeps pulling you back. They think you’re waving at them, all those people on the beach. You’re not. You’re crying out for someone to help and just hoping you have the strength to tread water for long enough before the sea pulls you under. _No._ Louis swallows desperately and painfully, hot tears pricking the backs of his eyes. He can’t break down here with everyone taking pictures of him. He can’t break down in front of Nick, Jesus fucking Christ. 

“Louis?” The look on Nick’s face is so warm, so open, so concerned. It makes it easier to breathe, like Louis can finally pull himself out of the undertow. “Come on, love.”

Louis turns, pretending to dick around with some of Nick’s music as he steadies himself. He doesn’t know why he even came here in the first place. _Because Nick asked_, his brain supplies. _Because you wanted to see him again and thought if you got under his skin enough, he might take you home and make you breakfast in the morning_. Louis doesn’t often go to these posh industry events anymore. His skin itches in uncomfortable clothes and he always feels out of place. He made an effort for this one. Red jumper, nice trainers, a bit of Lynx. He even moisturized his face, for fuck's sake. Pretending he doesn't care is hopeless.

“I’m fine,” Louis replies. He thinks he really might be. Just about.

“You’re sure?” Nick moves close to Louis and any words he planned to say falter, break and slip away from him. Louis tried so hard to keep it at bay, the gnawing voice that keeps wondering _what if, what if_ and he's sick of swimming against the tide. He tried so hard to push his feelings for Nick somewhere hidden, keeping himself busy enough that he doesn’t have to think about the way his heart races when his phone pings with a new text, the promise of _tea at mine_ or _walking the dogs_. He lets himself be close to Nick, lets himself enjoy the way even the slightest touch from Nick sets his body humming with need.

“Are them people with the phones still looking?” Louis wets his lips with his tongue, his mouth dry. 

“Don’t think so.” Nick takes his hand off Louis and his skin tingles. “It doesn’t matter if they are, not to me. I was just being annoying because you were a knob, all snooty about being boyfriends like I was beneath you or summat, just good for a quick hand job in the loos. Nobody's looking, not really. Nobody cares. They probably think you’re boring me to death with footie stories.”

“You’re so stupid.” Louis stares at Nick, his heart beating hard in his chest. “I don’t think you’re beneath me, you dickhead. I’m starting to think you’ve got as many issues as I have.”

“More, probably.” Nick gives Louis a small quirk of a smile. “Not beneath you, then?”

“Not unless you want to be.” Louis grins and Nick’s cheeks take on a pleasing flush.

“Oi!” 

“Just saying.” Louis can’t stop smiling, and he nudges his shoulder against Nick’s. “Put on some Oasis.”

“Not a chance.”

“You’re rubbish, you.” Louis knows how fond he sounds. “Can’t have a boyfriend who won’t even play Oasis for me.”

“I thought you didn’t want one of those?” Nick’s voice is rough and low. He puts a casual hand on the small of Louis’ back, leaning in so no one can catch what he’s saying. Even just that simple movement makes Louis harden in his trousers, his blinding need for Nick so overwhelming it hurts. He wants so many things and he doesn’t have a clue how to go about asking for any of them. He’s never been in a position where he’s wanted to expose himself so completely—never been with someone who has the power to turn his whole world topsy-turvy. “You’re terrible for the ego, love.” Nick says when Louis pointedly doesn’t respond. He puts on some Madonna, smiling and waves at a group of girls who start cheering. 

Louis swallows back a groan, downs half his bottle of beer and lets Nick get back to his music before invading his space again. “As if you need anyone boosting your ego.” 

“How would you know?” Nick glances at Louis with raised eyebrows.

“Because you’re a gobby twat and—” Louis takes a breath, pointedly not looking at Nick. “And you know what you’re doing.”

“You think?” Nick huffs with laughter. “You’re the one who’s had all of those relationships, not me.” He shrugs. “If you mean the other stuff, well. It wasn’t my first time.” He winks, the smug bastard.

_It was mine, though_. Louis hopes to god Nick doesn’t realise, sure his cheeks are hot red. It wasn’t his first time getting a hand other than his own on his dick, obviously. Louis has shagged more girls than he’s had Sunday roasts. It was his first time with another bloke. First and only. 

“See?” Louis mutters. “You’re a right smug arse.” 

“There’s no chance any of that is for show, of course.” Nick gives Louis a pointed look. “Not that you’d know anything about false bravado.”

“Not a thing, mate.” Louis replies, breezily. 

“I remember that, ah, first time.” Nick’s voice is light and casual, but in a way that sounds like he’s trying not to spook Louis.

Louis takes another gulp of his drink. “Don’t know what you’re on about.”

“You know exactly what I’m on about.” Nick’s voice is firm. “Those rank loos about three years ago was it? Dunno why we're always getting off together in toilets. They're not exactly candles and rose petals. My bed's much nicer.”

“I know.” Louis smiles, sweeping his eyes over Nick. “You were pissed. I didn't think you remembered.”

“I don’t think many people would forget snogging a member of One Direction in the gents.” Nick’s voice softens. “You were pissed too. Scared, I think.”

“Don’t.” Louis’ throat tightens, and he reaches for Nick’s cocktail, having a sip. He pulls a face when he realises it’s just coke. “Why aren’t you drinking?”

“Because I don’t want to feel like shit tomorrow.” 

“So you’re not saying any of this because you’ve had too much?” Louis studies Nick carefully.

“I haven't been pissed around you in a very long time,” Nick murmurs. “Might have played it up a bit. Makes it less scary, doesn't it?”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Louis swipes his tongue over his lips. Toes curled, hands stretched. The sun doesn’t seem so blinding anymore, just warm, bright and eager. The water is turquoise and still. No currents. No waves. “If I end up on the front page of _The Sun_ because you’ve been a dickhead I’m going to cut up all your posh shirts and steal Pig.”

“Is that right?” Nick grins at Louis, a flash of surprise crossing his features. “If I end up being painted as the ageing DJ who’s lost his popstar boyfriend, I’m going to buy Donny Rovers.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Louis gives Nick a light shove. “You’re shit at football, you can’t manage a whole team.”

“I can if it would piss you off,” Nick replies, cheerfully. He lifts up his phone and snaps a quick selfie of them. Louis grabs the phone and looks at it. He looks startled and caught off guard, but he’s got a soft, warm look on his face he hardly recognises. He’s not used to looking in mirrors and seeing that face staring back at him. Hasn’t been for a long time. Nick looks good as ever, his smile broad and his expression stupid and fond.

“Is this for Insta?” Louis swallows, looking at Nick. He’s not sure he’s ready, but he’s also not _not_ ready. He’s just…nervous. _Quite high up, here. What if it’s less of a dive, more of a belly flop? Could hurt, that_.

“Nope. That one’s just for me,” Nick says. “You look alright. I wanted to record it for posterity.”

“I always look alright,” Louis scoffs. He pauses, before speaking again. “Do I look good enough to take home tonight?”

Nick smiles, his eyes shining. “You look good enough to take home for longer than that, I’d say. I'll do you a nice brekkie in the morning. Got a whole bag of spinach in just in case.”

“If you try and feed me spinach I'll knee you in the bollocks, Nicholas.” Louis sends himself the selfie and with a shrug, chucks it on Instagram with the caption _this dickhead won’t play Oasis_. He tags Liam Gallagher in it too, because Louis is a terror. 

Nick glances at his phone—_ha! he has notifications on for Louis_—and he laughs, breathlessly.

“You little shit.” He slides his fingers over the base of Louis’ spine again, having a cheeky squeeze of Louis' bum. He lowers his voice. “People will talk.”

“'Course they will, you groping me like that.” Louis' voice shakes and he closes his eyes, leans into Nick and dives right in. _Tommo’s only gone and done it. Off that bloody diving board, into the swimming pool._ He imagines moving underwater, pushing his way to the surface and breathing as he shakes the water from his hair. The first bit’s done. Now it’s time to start swimming. 

“I don't give a fuck anyway,” Louis says, boldly. He fiddles with one of the buttons on the deck and Nick bats him away with a laugh. “Let them talk.”

Scores are in. The crowds surge to their feet with a roar. Louis kicks his feet, rolls onto his back and soaks up the sun.

_Ten points to Tommo_

.


End file.
